


Resonates (You're the only one)

by Literatesbian (dance_tilyouredead)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Artist Clarke, F/F, Fine Stud Lexa, G!P, Implied past abusive relationship, Lexa in finely tailored menswear is where it's at, Modern AU, Referenced Minor Character Death, actually quite fluffy, hot mess Clarke, only accidentally smooth af Lexa Woods, secret identity tropes, sorry i didn't tag that sooner
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-27 16:43:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6292189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dance_tilyouredead/pseuds/Literatesbian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By the time Clarke reaches the bar, she’s grumbling under her breath about rich fuckers, stupid ugly furniture and goddamn uncomfortable dresses. A light laugh makes her realise she was overheard. Peeking left, Clarke sees long hair, a dark expensive suit and clear green eyes surrounded by a smokey shadow worn like war paint. She blinks.</p><p>Lexa Woods is standing next to her. Lexa Woods is looking at her with that cocky smirk that the gossip magazines love to feature. Clarke hates Lexa Woods.</p><p>“You know, if you’re uncomfortable in that dress, you don’t have to be wearing it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What can anyone say about Fine Stud Lexa? Thank you Tumblr.

**Big Sis Anya  
** _You better be here soon bitch_

Lexa sighs. Anya is just nervous, she knows that, but still.

 **Little Lex  
** _I’ll get there when I get there. You’ll be fine without me._

 **Big Sis Anya  
** _Of course I will._

There’s nothing else and Lexa slips her phone into her coat pocket. Watching out the window she can see that they’re almost at the gala. Her driver made good time as always. Indra used to drive for Lexa’s father. When she saw his name in the obituary section of the paper, Indra was the first person she called.

“We are here.” Indra doesn't take her eyes off the road as she pulls up outside the ornate old building. There’s hordes of photographers and reporters on either side of a red carpet. Lexa doesn’t want to deal with any of them.

“Thank you.” Lexa is grateful in many ways. Loyal to a fault, Lexa knew Indra would never defect from her father while he was alive. Once he was gone, though. Lexa sent her stepmother a chocolate gift basket the same day she offered to double Indra’s previous wage.

Lexa rubs at her temples. It’s been a long day, but there is no way she could miss this event. Above the throngs of photographers and star chasers, the banner proudly welcomes her to the First Annual At-Risk Youth Polis Charity Ball. Her sister has been planning this event for two years. It’s already gotten more coverage for the center and more donations than they’d seen in ten years. Lexa promised to match whatever they raise tonight, and now that she’s here she’s wondering if that was a foolish promise to make. In any case, this night will be spectacular.

The cameras are already flashing; Lexa takes another deep breath. She straightens the lapel on her suit, checks her tie, cufflinks, and the sharp creases of her black pants. She glances into the mirror in the back of Indra’s seat to see her eyes aren’t smudged, and to check her smile isn’t too wooden. With a hand on the door Lexa lets her lips fall into the cocky smirk she’s famous for then step out onto the red carpet.

The intensity of flashes and shouting increases.

“Miss Woods!”

“Over here!”

“Is your sister blackmailing you for funding?”

“Can you tell us about your new merger with AzgedaCo?”

“Is it true you’re dating Kristen Stewart?”

Lexa ignores them all, makes sure that she’s seen, photographed then disappears through the front doors and into the gala.

//

Clarke is bored. And she’s barely been here an hour. Her mother disappeared forty minutes ago, and Clarke would be sneaking out of the party if she didn’t believe in the cause. Anya Vine’s youth shelter has been doing incredible work, but Clarke knows it’s hard. They need this gala to be successful. They need the money people like her mother can bring, and the exposure their presence ensures.

Wells is useless as always at these events. Without an audience, he’s basically just a lump of a boy. Sure, he’s a grown man with responsibility and shit, but with Clarke in situations where he’s not very comfortable, he’s basically the useless teenage idiot Clarke grew up with.

“I’m getting drinks.” Clarke doesn’t bother asking as she gets up from their table. Her place is marked with her name on a fancy little card so she doesn’t worry about losing it. And Wells won’t be moving anywhere.

The bar in this function room is huge, thirty meters long and lined with gilt chairs. Everything is plush and ostentatious, everything to make the rich assholes feel at home enough to drop cash down like it’s going out of style. Clarke wishes these events could happen at the places that they’re trying to make money for, but knows that’s not how it works.

By the time Clarke reaches the bar, she’s grumbling under her breath about _rich fuckers, stupid ugly furniture_ and _goddamn uncomfortable dresses_. A light laugh at her elbow makes her realise she was overheard. Peeking left, Clarke sees long hair, a dark expensive suit and clear green eyes surrounded by smoky eye shadow worn like war paint. She blinks.

Lexa Woods is standing next to her. Lexa Woods is looking at her with that cocky smirk that the gossip magazines love to feature. Clarke hates Lexa Woods.

“You know, if you’re uncomfortable in that dress, you don’t have to be wearing it.” Lexa’s smirk doesn’t waiver as Clarke’s mouth drops open.

Is Lexa Woods flirting with – how dare she even – what the fuck? Before Clarke can properly articulate her fury at such a terrible line, the bartender arrives. Lexa orders a scotch on the rocks then looks at Clarke who just glares at her.

“Champaign?” Lexa is cool, confident and obviously used to getting what she wants.

Since the bartender is standing waiting, Clarke doesn’t try to argue. “Two.” Lexa just smiles and nods. “Thanks,” Clarke adds bitterly.

Lexa sets down a fifty dollar note (drink charges are donations just like everything else) and hands Clarke the drinks. Lexa open her mouth as if to say something, but Clarke doesn’t give her a chance, turning and walking back to her table without another word.

Lexa watches her go, smirk faltering as she wonders what on earth she said wrong this time.

“First strikeout of the night.” Anya’s laughing voice brings a real smile to Lexa’s face as her sister appears by her side. Wearing her own suit, though not tailored to the impecable lines Lexa would like for her, Anya’s smirk is fuller and more deadly than Lexa could ever manage.

“Strikeout? I wasn’t trying to—”

“Sure you weren’t Little Lex.” At Lexa’s frown, Anya rolls her eyes. “You told her she didn’t have to be wearing her dress.” Lexa just frowns a little deeper. “As in you could help her take it off?”

“Oh,” Lexa realises. “Oh no. Oh, I didn’t mean that.”

Anya cracks up laughing. “Sure you didn’t.”

“I just meant she could wear something else.” She pulls at her coat as her voice gets higher with embarrassment. “Like us. Dresses are uncomfortable.”

Anya shakes her head. “I should have known that reputation of yours was an accident. You need to remember not everyone is as literal as you.”

Lexa pouts for a moment as Anya laughs before remembering where they are – before remembering who she has to be around all these rich strangers.

“Drink up, little Lex. Maybe you’ll get another chance to sweep blondie Princess off her feet.”

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“Ah huh. Sure you weren’t.”

There’s no point arguing. Lexa pulls her game face back on and downs her scotch. “Okay, who are we trying to schmooze here?”

//

The night goes well, so far as Clarke can tell. She avoids Lexa Woods and manages to dodge any other truly intolerable people wandering around. That is until she walks out onto the balcony to get some fresh air.

It’s a beautiful spring night, a cool breeze bringing jasmine scents across the river. The stars are bright even in the midst of city lights and Clarke sighs as she leans against the balcony rail, glad to be alone.

“Always alone even in a crowd, Clarke?” His voice sends a shiver of distaste up her spine. Finn. He has been trying to charm his way back into her life for months. Too bad for Finn, she sees him for what he is now.

“Is that supposed to be deep, Finn?”

“They do call me a poet.” His smile is confident, two glasses of champaign clasped in one hand.

Clarke huffs a humourless laugh. “The tabloids love a _tortured artist._ ” Clarke sneers out the last words with as much disdain as she can muster. At the same time, she chants in her head _He can’t hurt you anymore._

He offers her a glass which she doesn’t accept. “Well, if you won’t.” He downs both glasses of champaign in quick succession. Reaching past Clarke, he sets the glasses down behind her.

Smelling the rich mix of alcohol on his breath, Clarke tries to step away. He doesn’t let her though, bracketing his arms either side of her, trapping her between himself and the stone balustrade. For not the first time around Finn, Clarke feels scared. She tries to remind herself that he’s changed, that he wouldn’t deliberately hurt her. Not anymore. She tries not to think of the last time he was too close, alcohol on his breath. She tries not to think of the way he told her it was her fault – she pushed him too far.

“Finn,” she says his name in a warning tone. “I want you to step away from me.” She’s proud to hear her voice is clear and strong.

Finn looks hurt for a moment, then his expression clears and he smiles. “Is that what you want?” He shifts his hands closer to her, arms brushing her waist. Clarke nods, knowing her voice will have lost its strength to the fear welling up inside her. Finn still moves in, leans closer.

“Step back.” Clarke knows she can’t overpower him, and she doesn’t want to make a scene. She can’t let the stories in the morning be about her, not when the gala is going so well and raising so much money. She can’t cry out now.

Clarke’s heart is racing as her mind goes blank. She tries to remember anything about her self defence classes, about anything she’s been told. If she kicks him in the balls, will it just make him angry? If she headbutts him, will she just hurt herself. If she tries to run in this dress, in these heels will he just catch her, pull her back.

Finn’s lips brush her ear, making her skin crawl under his hot damp breath. “Is that what you _need_ baby?” One of his hands leaves the balustrade and Clarke thinks for a moment that he’ll let her go, that he’s done with his little power game. But then his hand is on her hip.

“Don’t,” she breathes with as much force as she can muster while feeling weak with fear.

Finn ignores her, his hand trailing down her thigh to the edge of her dress. “I know what you need, baby.”

Clarke swallows, knowing that she should cry out, knowing that she should fight. She can’t though. She’s caught – torn between too many conflicting fears, caught hoping that she’s wrong, that Finn won’t do this again. That he’s the better man he promised to be so many times.

He isn’t a better man. His fingers find her bare skin and start creeping up. Clarke closes her eyes. She holds her breath. She waits.

There are footsteps. Sharp, quick footsteps then a voice, clear and powerful. “What is going on here?”

Finn barely moves, keeps his hand on Clarke’s thigh, too far up for decency and turns to address the interruption. “We’re fine.”

The person hesitates and Clarke wants to cry out, wants to shout for this person to _help her_ , but Finn is holding her down, even without his hand over her mouth he’s capable of silencing her. There’s footsteps again and Clarke thinks that the person is walking away, that her chance is lost. Then Lexa Woods is there. Lexa hasn’t taken Finn’s word for it. She walked around him to make eye contact with Clarke.

“Are you okay?” She asks.

Clarke still can’t speak. Finn nods his head back towards the party inside. “We’re fine. And busy. You can go now.”

“I wasn’t talking to you.” Lexa’s snarl is sharp enough to make Finn flinch, his fingers digging into Clarke’s skin. Lexa keeps eye contact with her, calm even gaze enough to pull her some small way back out of Finn’s darkness. “Are you okay, Clarke?”

The sound of her name is the last piece Clarke needs. She’s still afraid, but Lexa’s voice helps her shake her head.

The tiny movement is enough for Lexa. “Let. Her. Go.”

“I said piss off.” Finn is getting angry and Clarke whimpers.

“Let her go now.” Her voice sounds dangerous, almost a promise of pain.

“Or what? What are you gonna do, you trust-fund slut.” Finn starts turning, his attention on Clarke diminishing.

“You don’t want to find out.” Lexa hasn’t moved at all, but she’s standing in a way that makes her look ready for anything. Hands behind her back, she’s the opposite of sloppy drunk Finn.

Finn lurches forward and Clarke nearly screams as Finn swings at Lexa. His fist sails straight through air as she steps sideways.

“This is very stupid, Finn.” Lexa steps out of his range again, making Finn growl with frustrated anger.

“Come on you stupid slut. Stop dancing around.”

Lexa doesn’t quit moving and there’s nothing Clarke can do to stop what’s happening. She wants to tell Finn _enough_ , tell him to give up, go home and sleep it off, but she’s still got that tight coil of fear stopping her voice.

“Clarke.” Lexa looks annoyed at Finn’s attempts to attack her now. “Can I drop this man?”

“Ah,” Clarke doesn’t understand.

“Is he important to you?”

“God no.” Clarke is shocked by the words that come out of her mouth. The fear is dimming. Watching Lexa evade Finn so easily helps Clarke find her confidence against Finn’s bumbling mindless violence.

“Would it upset you if I put him on the ground?”

Clarke thinks she’s joking, but Lexa looks at her with wide honest eyes and Clarke realises she’s being perfectly serious. Lexa can put Finn on the ground, presumably hard enough that he won’t get up again. She wants to say, _do it_. She wants to say, _beat the shit out of him for me_ , just to see if Lexa will.

Instead, she says, “No. I mean, you can put hi down, just don’t hurt him. This night needs to be about the refuge tomorrow. Not his broken nose.”

Lexa stares at her for a second too long. Clarke can’t read the look in her eye and it’s gone too quick as Finn thinks he sees an opening. He’s behind Lexa now and he makes a final lunge to tackle her around the middle, maybe to bring her to the ground.

Lexa doesn’t even need to look at him. She feels him coming, steps out of the way and grabs his wrist. She twists, pulls his arm out away from his body, and lets his momentum do the worst of the damage as he falls to his knees. Finn cries out in pain as Lexa twists his arm harder and grabs a hold of just one of his fingers to bend it back at an unnatural angle.

“I told you to let her go, Finn.”

“Bitch!” He spits hate out with the one word.

Lexa doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even look angry. “If I let _you_ go, will you try to follow her.”

“She’s mine!” He spits out the two words which finally turn Clarke’s fear into anger.

As Lexa twists his hand harder behind his back Clarke comes around to look him in the eye.

“You do not own me.” Clarke weighs her options, makes a decision then swings her foot back and kicks Finn hard in the groin. Lexa lets him go and he collapses to the ground with a long high-pitched whine.

//

Lexa calls security to escort Finn out of the building as soon as she gets inside. Clarke follows along behind her as if scared to be alone. Lexa doesn’t blame her. She hadn’t been sure when she first walked out onto the balcony, what was going on. She didn’t know if they were just fooling around out in the dark. It wasn’t until she saw Clarke’s face that she knew.

Lexa tries to loosen the anger from her shoulders. She wanted nothing more than to knock that peacock asshole to the floor, to beat him until he was little more than a walking bruise. But, she couldn’t do that. She hasn’t spent years training so she can beat people up. She knows what she needs to protect herself and to help keep others from getting hurt.

Lexa watches the crowd, tries to focus on the wonderful parts of tonight, on all the incredible work Anya has done. She tries to focus on the pride she felt for Anya earlier, but then she sees that Clarke is still shaking.

“What can I get you, Clarke?”

Clarke takes a deep breath before replying. “A quiet space would be appreciated.”

Lexa nods. “This way.”

She pushes through the crowd with Clarke beside her. She doesn’t touch Clarke, keeping her hand a safe distance from her lower back, ready to help, guide or catch her if necessary. She can’t imagine Clarke would appreciate a stranger touching her right now though, so she doesn’t.

Finally, they find a dimly lit room off the main function area and Lexa closes the door almost completely shutting out the noise of the gala. It’s a beautiful room, all plush carpets and expensive furniture, but Lexa doesn’t really notice it. She guides Clarke to sit in a high-backed chair and kneels down in front, keeping her eyes below Clarke’s, keeping Clarke in a position of control above her.

“Is this a little better?”

Clarke gives a shaky laugh. “Yeah. Great.” She rolls her eyes then. At Lexa’s confusion, she explains. “You were hitting on me a few hours ago.”

Lexa looks down, fighting against the rising colour in her cheeks. “About that, Clarke. I really—”

“Hang on, how do you know my name?”

Lexa looses the battle against her blush. “After we spoke, I endeavored to find out who you were.”

“So you could try again?”

Lexa frowns. “So that I could get to know you.”

Clarke watches her for a moment before sighing. “I’m sorry, I just— I don’t know how to trust my instincts after Finn. I just kind of assume that everyone wants something from me.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?”

“I am in business, Clarke.” Lexa holds her breath then, waiting for the joke to fall flat. She doesn’t expect Clarke to smile, but she does. And Clarke has a really lovely smile.

Clarke finds she can’t help it. Lexa just has a certain charm. She had been determined not to see it. She’s still sure that Lexa is a player, a liar and yet another trust fund baby that she won’t be able to stand more than ten minutes with, but she’s more ready to give her a chance, now.

“So,” Clarke starts awkwardly. Lexa is still on her knees in front of Clarke, and it’s starting to feel too serious, too much like a proposal. She pats the space next to her on the chair. Lexa doesn’t take it though. She stands instead.

“I would like to take you home, Clarke.”

Clarke looks shocked, then angry and she’s about to start yelling when Lexa realises her mistake and holds up her hands.

“Not like that. I just mean to help you get home safe. Nothing else.” She scratches the back of her head with one hand, the other hand on her hip. She looks like a junior high kid trying to ask her crush on a date. It’s so awkward that Clarke’s anger fades.

She would like to go home. She would also like to slip out without being noticed. That can’t happen if she leaves out the front door with Lexa ‘Rising Star’ Woods by her side. God, she could only imagine what the gossip sites would say about the two of them getting into Lexa’s car together.

Lexa must see the hesitation, and understand it. “I can make sure no one sees us leave.”

Clarke bites back a smile. “At some point, you will say something to me that couldn’t be taken as a proposition or a threat, Miss Woods.”

Lexa sighs at her own awkwardness. “Please, call me Lexa.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa falls madly in bed with Clarke.

Lexa drops her home with a polite “Goodnight, Clarke,” that leaves her a little confused. The whole thing just left her head… spinning? The car was hands down the nicest one she's ever been in. Lexa was nice, she was practically a gentleman… gentlewoman?

Clarke doesn't even know. She can't seem to separate rumors from the fact of Lexa herself. By all accounts, she could have found herself pushed up against the door, a hand halfway up her skirt. The more she thinks about it, the worse an idea it was to go with her in the first place. After Finn – she shivers a little despite the warmth in her apartment – she should know better.

It’s not that she’s in any way unhappy with the considered and respectful distance that Lexa left between them. Lexa’s behaviour was just... unexpected. Different from the spoiled lothario persona painted in magazines.

After a few lost minutes on her couch, Clarke’s phone rings and she picks up for **The Finer Blake**.

“Dude, you have to stop switching your name in my phone. I'll have to change my password on you.”

Octavia scoffs. “Like you could keep me out. I know all of your go to’s Griff. You out of that dress yet? Ready to tell me everything about that rich bitch lifestyle of yours?”

Clarke laughs, looking around her tiny apartment. Crumbs on the counter, shoes strewn around the door. Even her bed is small just so she could have some space for her art. She is still in the ridiculously expensive dress Abby gave her though.

“Hang on, O, I'm gonna put you on speaker. I need to get out of this dress and into a hoodie.”

“That's my girl. Just don't wander off kay? You know your phone sucks.”

“Yeah yeah.”

//

For a while everything goes back to normal.

//

Lexa can't sleep. It’s been three days since she left Clarke at her door, watched her walk up the steps into her apartment. And now she can’t get the girl out of her head. Lexa berates herself. She should know better. She saw how the girl frowned at her early on the night of the gala. Lexa’s words got away from her again. Accidentally propositioning Clarke is just one unfortunate side effect of her impulse control issues.

Maybe it’s for the best – better that Clarke isn’t in her life. This life that she’s carving out for herself, the darkness that Lexa dwells in isn’t for sweet beautiful smiling girls like Clarke.

Switching on her lamp, Lexa thinks of Finn, of how she had found them together, and she wonders if Clarke is so far removed from that world after all. It’s one am, and after an hour of tossing and turning she’s had enough, slips out of her sheets, exchanges her cotton tee for a sport bra and heads to her home gym. Flicking on lights as she walks, she wonders if Indra is up and wandering around too. Sometimes Indra lurks the halls, keeping as poor a schedule as Lexa herself. Close to the gym she hears noises, grunts and a creaking chain. Yes, Indra is up and she’s had the same idea as Lexa, pummeling a boxing bag with all the pent up aggression that she refuses to explain.

Lexa receives barely an acknowledging grunt as she enters the dimly lit gym and heads for her computer console. The array of lights and monitors looks mostly quiet; there’s little crime to be seen in Polis on a Tuesday evening. She switches on the police scanner and picks up her skipping rope.

As she skips past her first fifty the display lights up. Some minor traffic incidents on the main motorway have brought in a squad car and two ambulances. Nothing for The Commander to worry about.

Half an hour later the console lights up again. A break-and-enter gone bad. Or worse, a planned murder meant to look like a break and enter. She hears the name of the neighbourhood. Knows it. She dropped Clarke there only three days ago. Lexa has stopped skipping now, just as Indra steps away from the bag. She knows what Lexa will want to do.

“I will bring the car around.” When Indra speaks, she isn’t asking a question.

Lexa nods anyway. “Four minutes.”

“Yes, Commander.”

As Indra leaves, Lexa turns and marches toward the hidden panel at the back of her gym. She has three costumes tucked away. She has to think of them as costumes because of what she does in them. Really it’s just black body armour, a mask around her eyes, and black paint to give her the distinctive streaks down both cheeks.

//

Clarke can't sleep. She's been dreaming about sirens. Or maybe real sirens are interrupting her dreams, she's not sure. Either way, she's up and in the corner of her loft dedicated to her paints. She has a commission for a restaurant downtown – cheesy inoffensive works that blend into the beije walls. It's the kind of work that pays her bills.

Lately though, she hasn't been able to focus on that work. She keeps coming back to the easel with her finer brushes. Cool green eyes have been in her head for three days. She knows why, knows she just need to get _Her_ out of her system and she’ll be fine. She’d recounted the whole sorry tale to Octavia that night.

“Sounds like you’ve got a crush, Griff.”

“I have no such thing. The woman is a cadd at best.”

“Cadd?” Octavia laughs. “You’ll sound more convincing when you stop talking like a Jane Austen novel.”

//

The knife is still sticking out of Lexa's side when Indra picks her up. The blade spears pain through her every time that she breathes. Lexa doesn't know if she should pull it out or not. If she leaves it in, it could do more damage, if she removes it, maybe she'll just bleed out all of the leather upholstery. She isn't sure.

_She needs help._

Indra is waiting for direction. The fact that she isn't already driving towards the nearest hospital means she has the same concerns Lexa does about exposure. It's not so simple anymore. Not after tonight.

“Clarke,” Lexa gasps, opting to leave the knife in for now. “She's close?”

Indra nods and they speed off, threading through back streets and laneways into a dark and dangerous neighbourhood Lexa should have stayed away from. Indra knows these areas better than Lexa ever could and within minutes, they’re sitting idle in front of a squat, dark building. There's only one light on above and Lexa's not sure if she hopes it's Clarke's or not.

Light on, means Clarke is awake. On the other hand, light on means that Clarke isn't sleeping. She has to take the gamble. After the gala, Lexa had read about Clarke. She'd resisted, of course. But then Anya had sent her an article about the night and there Clarke's name was highlighted in the bright blue of a link. Clicking it, Lexa learned that Clarke followed her mother's footsteps into medicine at first. Only child of the chief thoracic surgeon at Polis General, she was destined for great things until she suddenly dropped out of her residency and cut all financial ties from her mother.

In the dark of three in the morning, Lexa presses Clarke's apartment number. When she sees movement in the only lit apartment above, she sends Indra home.

//

“You aren't sleeping,” is the first thing Lexa says when Clarke opens her door.

Honestly, Clarke hesitated before doing any such thing. A bruised and bloody Lexa Woods was the last thing she expected to see through the security monitor her mother installed for her. With the door open, Lexa keeps herself straight for only a few seconds, then her calm expression crumbles in pain and she slumps forward. Clarke only just manages to catch her, and help her slowly to the ground.

“The door,” Lexa says and Clarke closes off the dark hallway.

“What happened?” Clarke leaves Lexa where she is, rushes to grab her med kit and a pillow from the couch. “Here, lie down.”

She gives the order as she would have in the hospital. There’s a pang of something niggling in the back of her mind. That nagging guilt of leaving medicine behind. She pushes it away as she guides Lexa to the floor, head resting on the couch cushion. Lexa’s eyes are open, but her focus keeps wavering. She has both hands pressed to her side.

“You’ll have to let go, Lexa.”

Lexa almost smiles as she meets Clarke’s eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

Clarke resists the urge to roll her eyes. Yes, she googled Lexa after that night and, yes she found confirmation of everything she had already heard about Lexa. She read interviews with previous “dalliances” and saw videos of Lexa at red carpet events all over the world. Every new article and video painted the picture of an intelligent and charismatic, but emotionally void billionair, used to getting everything that she wants. How this Lexa, bleeding all over her floor fits into that, she doesn’t know.

At Clarke’s unimpressed look, Lexa lets her hands fall. Only Clarke’s years of medical training stops her gasping. The hilt of a knife is sticking out of Lexa’s side. The hilt is short, and she hopes the blade matches.

“Who did this?”

“Bad guys.”

“Be serious.” Clarke stretches to reach her phone. “I’m calling you an ambulance.”

“No,” Lexa says. “No police.”

“I said ambulance – they won’t call the police unless you ask them to.”  
  
“No ambulance,” Lexa says. “That’s why I came _here_.”

Clarke wants to slap her. “And if you die? I’ll be held responsible. You know that don’t you? And you don’t care.”

Lexa frowns deeply, her words slurring. “I do care, Clarke. And I won die. Is jus a scratch.”

She must be delirious, Clarke thinks. “You have a knife sticking out of your guts. I don’t even know how deep it’s gone. Define worse.”

Lexa doesn’t try to explain with words, she just grabs Clarke’s hand and with a surprising strength drags it up under her top, pushing the hard armour plates out of the way. “See?”

Clarke does see. She can see hard abs, she can feel them too, with defined hips under a long craggy scar running from her eighth rib all the way down to her hip. Clarke shakes her head wondering what the hell this crazy girl is into.

“So you’ve had worse. Doesn’t mean this is going to be easy. If I pull the knife out and something goes wrong, there won’t be enough time for me to stop the bleeding. I’m calling an ambulance and they can take the knife out at the—”

Lexa doesn’t let her finish, she grabs the knife hilt and yanks the blade out of her side in one swift move.

“Fuck. Dammit, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Clarke scrambles for the towel she’d brought over, pressing it against the wound.

Lexa hands Clarke the blade, handle first. “See, just a scratch,” she says and then promptly passes out.

Clarke could kill her if she wasn’t so busy saving her life. “I won’t let you die you big idiot.”

 _‘How’,_ is what Clarke keeps thinking. How is it that this brilliant woman (and Google assured her that this woman who invested in twitter, Uber and Airbnb is in fact brilliant) came to be unconscious and bleeding in her doorway.

//

Lexa wakes up to fairy lights twinkling above her. She passed out. It’s been a very long time since she passed out. She remembers then, that she is not at home or in the hospital. No, she’s in Clarke’s apartment. She remembers getting Indra to bring her here and then she remembers lying on the floor, her hand holding Clarke’s under her shirt and over her stomach. Despite the circumstances Lexa feels a blush heat her cheeks.

God, will she ever manage to interact with Clarke without doing or saying something inappropriate?

“I didn’t know there was still enough blood left inside you to blush.” Clarke’s voice makes Lexa flinch.

She looks left, heart beating fast to see Clarke sitting on the bed beside her. On the bed that must be where Clarke sleeps. Looking around, she sees that her apartment is just one room with kitchen, bed and her art studio all sharing one space.

Lexa tries to sit up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pass out. I’ll just go—”

Clarke’s hand is warm on her bare shoulder, making Lexa’s cheeks heat up all over again. She’s wearing a singlet in a soft pink cotton that most certainly isn’t her own. Clarke presses harder and Lexa is forced to fall back against the bed.

Clarke glares down at her. “Don’t make me get the cuffs.”

“Cuffs?” Lexa’s loose tongue almost gets bitten off as she tries to pull back her words.

“I was kidding.”

“Oh.” Lexa lifts up her top to see her bandages. She actually feels pretty good, considering. “Thank you.” Looking up, she sees that Clarke is following the movements of her hands, watching her exposed abs move in the warm glow of fairy lights.

Having been obviously caught, Clarke scowls. “You’re certainly _not_ welcome,” she says. “And you owe me one. So you’re going to tell me what this is all about, why the golden girl of technology just needed twelve stitches from a knife in her side.” She lifts up the blade as if it’s proof. “You’re going to tell me why you were wearing body armour and what the hell you were thinking coming _here_.” Clarke hands over a bottle of water, apparently unable to stop herself caring even when she's pissed off.

After a few long gulps, Lexa lets her eyes fall closed. She sighs then winces as the deep breath pulls at her stitches. “I was in the neighbourhood?” She tries to appear unaffected and fails miserably.

“Yeah, sure. Is this a rich person thing?”

Lexa doesn’t understand.

“You know, bored trust-fund kids running around doing dangerous shit just because they can.”

“I’m not a trust fund kid,” Lexa scoffs.

Clarke looks like she doesn’t believe her and Lexa fights the urge to sigh again. It doesn’t matter, she supposes, she just doesn’t want Clarke thinking she’s one of those assholes.

Clarke reaches for her bedside table and comes back with a black cloth in her hand. Lexa's mask. Crumpled and stained with her facepaint, Lexa had pulled it off as Indra drove away, barely remembering to wipe the face-paint off with it.

“This fell out of your pocket when I was moving you to the bed.” Clarke keeps her eyes down, fixed on the cloth. “You’re really heavy by the way.” She looks up then, her gaze intense, searching. “And you still have black smudges around your eyes.”

Lexa has to turn away from that searching gaze..

“If turning away is your only answer, then I'm calling the police.”

Lexa can't let that happen. They and more besides will only be put in danger “Please, Clarke, I promise I'll explain in the morning.”

Clarke looks like she's fighting against every instinct she has. Finally, she nods and Lexa slumps with relief.

“Thank you.” Lexa is thankful, so very thankful and she wishes she could properly express the how and why.

Clarke only grunts in reply. “Don't even think about sneaking out.” Before Lexa can reply, Clarke stands. “I'll get you some shorts to sleep in.”

“Oh that's not necessary—”

“You're wearing body armour, idiot. Sleep in that and you’ll cut off circulation. Or do you _want_ to lose a leg?”

Clarke has a line between her brows, she's so serious that Lexa can't help but smile as Clarke walks away, rummages through some drawers and returns with a pair of loose shorts. Lexa is still smiling when she catches the shorts thrown at her head.

“Put those on, and don't argue.”

Lexa doesn't want to argue, but she does want to laugh. With a barely concealed smirk, Lexa nods her head. “Yes ma’am.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Just go.”

Lexa follows her nod to the bathroom. Once inside, she experiences her first moment of panic. Clarke's right. She can't sleep in her armoured pants, but she feels a lurch of discomfort when she looks at the shorts too. They're loose in a way that she won't be able to do much about how they fall around her. Especially how they fall over certain… areas. Clarke is going to know a whole lot more about Lexa than she'd ever really imagined revealing.

She doesn't have much choice though. She knows that Clarke _will_ call the police if she tries to sneak out, or if she fails to give a convincing answer about what she's doing here in body armor, a knife stuck into her side.

With a sigh, Lexa shucks off her pants and pulls on the shorts. There's literally nothing she can do about her dick though. It's just there, being all dick-like and outlined in soft comfortable cotton. She looks down for several long moments, willing it to behave. No need to call attention, she thinks. _Just be calm, and I’ll be calm_.

Lexa takes a deep steadying breath.

 

“Oh,” is the first sound Clarke makes when Lexa comes out of the bathroom.

Lexa resists the urge to follow Clarke's gaze, to look down or cover herself. It's not like she has a hard on. She won't get embarrassed. It just _is what it is_.

“So it's true.” Clarke isn't asking a question and eventually Lexa can bring herself to look directly at her.

Clarke doesn't try to deny what she's seen, and her eyes have already come up to meet Lexa's again, interest shining through brighter than anything else.

Lexa scratches at the back of her neck before pulling her hands behind her back to keep from fidgeting. “Well, yes. Is… that a problem?” She's not sure exactly what she's asking.

Clarke doesn't hesitate though. She says, “You're perfect, however your body works for you,” and it doesn't sound like a line, just the truth. Especially since Clarke is still sort of glaring at her. Clarke doesn't even blush, though Lexa certainly does.

“I can sleep on the couch…” Lexa hesitates as she glances around the apartment. The only large piece of furniture other than the narrow bed is an armchair probably older than both of them. “Or the chair,” Lexa says, trying to keep her voice firm. She wants to give Clarke the option.

Clarke huffs a sigh, obviously fighting the urge to roll her eyes yet again. “Just get in the damn bed, Lexa. I left water and some iron tablets for you. Swallow both before you go to sleep.”

Lexa jumps to follow her orders, pushing down the automatic _‘Yes, ma’am’_ that threatens to come out again. Clarke has already stripped off her hoodie and is under the blankets when Lexa settles in beside her. The bed is so narrow that there’s hardly any space between them, though they both are lying close to their respective edges.

“Clarke?”

Clarke grunts in reply.

“Thank you. For saving my life.”

Clarke outright groans this time. She reaches out and suddenly her palm is against Lexa’s cheek in what Lexa thinks is a sleepy slap to the face. Clarke’s hand falls past Lexa’s lips to lie in the narrow space between them and lexa turns onto her stomach, the only way that is in the least bit comfortable given her stitches. Clarke is already drifting, her eyes closed, lips soft.

“Goodnight, Clarke.”

“Goodnight, Idiot.” Clarke pauses before she says, "Lexa?"

"Yes, Clarke?"

"Apparently, I snore."

"I think I can handle you." A soon as she says the words, Lexa cringes. "I can handle it. I can handle snoring, is what I meant." 

"Sure you did."

 

Together, they fall asleep on Clarke's tiny bed, hands soft between them, fingers just shy of touching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No apologies. Come bug me on tumblr. Dancetyd.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date night and stars. Fine stud Lexa is in fine stud form.

Lexa wakes to her arms full of Clarke. At some point between falling asleep and waking, they’ve both come together. It’s not surprising when the bed is so small. Lexa resists the urge to push away, because Clarke is still asleep, because she could pull out her stitches, and to her great internal annoyance, Lexa likes how this feels.

Clarke is facing her, one hand slung over Lexa’s hip, the other squeezed between their bodies. Lexa has one hand over Clarke’s waist, the other, lost under Clarke’s pillow, or their pillow, since they seem to be sharing at this point. They’re so close, Lexa could count the lashes on Clarke’s cheek. There’s a swatch of hair fallen across Clarke’s brow that Lexa longs to sweep aside. She wants to feel Clarke’s warm skin. That’s how she knows she’s lost.

“You have terrible morning breath.” Clarke’s eyes are still closed and her words are a mumble, but her voice is strong enough to make Lexa jump. Clarke is awake. Clarke knows she was staring. “Couldn’t be bothered sneaking out? Or too sore for sneaking?”

“Neither.” Lexa can’t feign sleep so she pulls on her confident smirk instead. “I made you a promise, Clarke.”

Clarke grunts as she opens her eyes, her hand coming up from between them to rub at her face. On the way, Clarke brushes over Lexa’s crotch. Lexa tries not to flinch, but her shoulder tense enough for Clarke to register the movement. She looks like she wants to ask, then she closes her eyes for a few seconds and when they open again, that question is gone.

“Are you going to tell me what the hell happened to you last night?”

Clarke’s back to glaring, and Lexa’s almost relieved. She likes the way Clarke arc’s up around her. Clarke is not in the least bit afraid of her, and Lexa would like to keep it that way. She just doesn’t know how.

“I don’t want you to be afraid of me.” She doesn’t know how to be sincere and smile so she lets the smirk fall.

“Why would I be afraid of you? What is it you’re doing, exactly?”

“I can’t tell you. I’d only put you in danger—”

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

Clarke’s glare has lifted for a spectacular eye-roll. “Don’t give me that, _for your safety_ crap. If you were that worried about my safety, you wouldn’t have shown up on my doorstep at 3am. Whatever you’re involved in, I’m involved now too. You owe it to me to explain.”

Lexa opens her mouth to argue, then closes it again. “You… Have a point.”

“Of course, I do. See, I think there're two kinds of people. Those who protect others by giving them the tools and information they need to protect themselves, and those that hide away, that deceive everyone they know because their selfishness and ego lets them think they know what’s best for everybody else.”

She pauses and Lexa is acutely aware of the way they’re still holding each other, of the proximity that they both seem comfortable with ignoring.

Clarke continues with a question. “Which one are you, Lexa?”

Clarke doesn’t know what’s gotten into her. She’s not exactly a morning person, but this has to be a record. Awake for barely five minutes and already interrogating the girl in her bed… And, wow if that doesn’t sound ridiculous out of context. She can’t give Lexa any kind of out though, so she doesn’t retract the questions. She needs answers and she needs Lexa to know that she’ll get them one way or another.

Lexa looks down, her jaw working as she thinks as if she’s chewing over the dilemma. It’s not fair how attractive she is. It’s definitely not fair that Lexa’s thumb has found the skin above Clarke’s shorts and below her shirt. It’s maddening, the way she seems to be stroking the skin unconsciously. When Lexa finally glances back up, it’s through her lashes and Clarke loses her breath.

“I will answer your questions, Clarke.”

“Okay. Tell me everything.”

Lexa doesn’t know where to start. “That… Isn’t a question.”

“Who stabbed you?”

“A security guard.”

Clarke sighs as if absolutely done. “Not building any confidence with me here.”

“There’s a… gym. An underground gym that recruits kids out of Anya’s youth center. The guy who runs the place is bad news. The kids that go through there… they don’t come out the same.”

“Not the same?”

“Every bad thing you’d hope a kid can stay away from. Drugs, gambling. These fights are illegal. Bare-knuckled half the time, they can end up with their bodies wrecked or brains scrambled. Sometimes both. They’re turned into monsters.”

“Why not call the police. Why play vigilante if what they’re doing is so bad?”

“Believe me, that was the first thing I did. I wish it was that simple. But the police must be paid to stay away.” She pauses, not proud of the way she found that out. “When I called up, they told me they’d done everything they could and after a _comprehensive investigation,_  they found no sign of illegal activity. I hacked into the Polis PD network to track the investigation. There wasn’t one.”

“So you went in to investigate for yourself.”

Lexa looks down at the pillow they both are still resting on. There’s a thread sticking out and Lexa takes her hand off Clarke’s waist to pull at the cotton loop.

“I followed one of the kids from the center. Artigus got pulled in a few months ago. He said he’s learning to fight. I didn’t believe him. When I got there, I didn’t know what I expected to find…”

She can barely keep her voice even. Clarke is watching her so seriously, she knows she doesn’t have to convince her of anything anymore. She just doesn’t know how to explain what she saw without crying. Artigus, beaten bloody and bruised. She still doesn’t know why they did that to him.

“They killed him,” Lexa says as the first tears fall. Clarke’s hand tightens on Lexa’s hip. “When I got there, all I could do was watch as they…” She trails off again. She can’t say the words out loud. “I was too late.”

“How did this happen?” Clarke’s hand trails from her hip to rest gently over the wound in her side.

“I’ve been, making things difficult for them ever since. Intervening with kids that peek their interest. That’s during the day, the legal way. At night, I keep track of their activities. It’s more than just the gym. These guys, I’m still figuring out the limits of the network and every new rock I turn over, I find another slimy figure connected to them. Half the organised crime in this city is owned by them, and the gym is at the center of it. I’ve tried to be quiet, but it seems they’re paying attention, and now they’ve got me on the news…”

She looks away, but Clarke already knows. “As The Commander,” she continues. At Lexa’s look, Clarke rolls her eyes. “Well, you’re not Batman.”

Lexa laughs at that, but she still needs to answer Clarke’s question. “Last night I fell into a whole group of their thugs. They were waiting for me. Baited a trap not far from here. I still managed to fight them off, but didn’t get away before someone snuck up from behind me and shoved that knife in.”

Clarke’s eyes are sad as she watches Lexa try and collect herself, as she fights down her anger.

“Okay,” Clarke says.

“Okay?”

“I believe you.”

Relief rushes through her and Lexa feels fresh hot tears on her cheeks. Clarke wipes them away without hesitation, telling Lexa that she’s okay and she’s safe.

Lexa chuckles lightly. “I’m safe. But, there’s still more kids involved in that gym and I still don’t know who killed Artigus.”

“What gym?” Clarke is curious, but Lexa hesitates still worried about giving Clarke too much, putting her in danger.

Before she can answer, Clarke freezes. There’s a sound at the door and Lexa tries to keep calm, to assume that the hallway is just so close that it sounds like someone is at Clarke’s door. She stays calm, but Clarke certainly doesn’t, pushing back from Lexa so hard she has to stumble to regain her footing on the floor. She nearly fell, like a teenager caught in the wrong bed by the wrong parent, Clarke grabs at the clothes on her body reassuring herself that she is indeed still wearing something, then there’s the sound of a key sliding home, Clarke turns, and the door opens.

As Clarke visibly collects herself, a small woman walks straight inside, slipping keys back into her gym bag and closing the door behind her. Her dark hair is braided and she’s wearing exercise gear that shows off a fighter’s body.

“Clarke. What the hell? I’ve been texting you for like two hours.”

Lexa feels something in her chest tighten. Clarke has a girlfriend. Of course, she has a girlfriend. She tries to shrink down under the blankets in some attempt to make herself smaller – never something she’s been good at.

“Octavia, it’s not even— wow.” Clarke picks up her phone from the kitchen bench and stares at the time. “Okay, so I get it, but really you couldn’t have knocked?”

“Since when would I need to—” Octavia’s eyes go straight to Clarke’s bed, her face lighting up in a grin as she catches sight of Lexa. “Oh,” she says.

Lexa gives up on her attempts to be small and lifts herself up on the pillows trying hard not to wince. She doesn’t stand up, though. She’s been exposed enough for one day.

“Octavia, whatever you’re thinking, is _not_ what’s happening.” Clarke is rubbing at both temples.

“Sure sure.” The girl – Octavia – waves Clarke off and steps even closer. “Aren’t you going to introdu— holy shit.”

Lexa does wince this time as Octavia lights up with recognition.

“You’re Lexa Woods.” Octavia’s mouth snaps shut, she grabs Clarke by the wrist and drags her the three meters back to the doorway. In a comically loud whisper that Lexa can’t help but overhear, she says. “You’re fucking Lexa Woods? I knew you had a crush, but babe, you know—”

Clarke hisses at her friend. “I am _not_ fucking anyone as you well know.” Lexa pushes down the odd rush of relief those words provoke, as Clarke tries with considerable effort to push Octavia back to the door. “Now get out of here.”

“Tell me you’ll explain everything later.” Octavia seems to be barely pushing back against Clarke, but is still unmoving. Either Clarke is very weak or Octavia is exceptionally strong.

Clarke gives up on pushing. “Alright, fine. Just get out, O.”

Octavia lets herself be pushed out this time and Clarke collapses against the door.

“So?” Lexa is torn between rushing out of the apartment and needing to still check in with Clarke. To check that she’s okay, and to make sure that she’ll keep her secrets.

Clarke gives her a weak smile. “All of this without any coffee. You want?” She goes to flick on the kettle and lean against the kitchen bench. She’s about as far away from Lexa as the small space allows.

Lexa holds back a sigh. “I should go. I just need to call Indra. My driver…” Lexa trails off as Clarke huffs a laugh. “What?”

Clarke shrugs. “Just… _your driver_.” She waves off her reaction and hands Lexa her phone. “So you know, I’ll be saving that number.”

Lexa knows she could hack her phone and delete the number later if she wanted to. She won’t though. There’s no point. Clarke knows enough about her to do far more damage than sharing Indra’s number with anyone. And, Lexa finds that she trusts her.

Indra picks up after the first ring, needs nothing more than a few words and is on her way. After hanging up, Lexa gives Clarke her phone back with one addition.

She pulls her much practiced cocky smirk back into place as she says, “My phone number. I think it’s a little more valuable than Indra’s. Especially if you want to sell it.” It’s a weak joke and Clarke doesn’t look amused. “But also, if you wanted to call?” She tries to keep the strength of her hope out of her voice. She’s sure she fails miserably.

“Why would I call?”

“Oh,” Lexa looks down, smirk falling as she scratches at the back of her neck. “Of course, I didn’t mean to—”

“I meant.” Clarke is in front of her, pulling at Lexa’s wrist to stop her awkward movements. “Why would I call you, when we can just set up a date right now?”

//

After Lexa leaves, Clarke calls Octavia as she promised. Raven answers.

“You better have a really great explanation, kid.”

“Raven, you are three months older than me.”

“Don’t change the subject. Octavia tells me you’re fucking Lexa Woods.”

A muffled, “No I didn’t say that,” comes down the receiver and Clarke rolls her eyes. The inconvenience of her two best friends dating is without comparison. There’s a scuffle and Octavia must steal her phone back, because it’s her voice coming in loudest this time. “I just explained what I saw. If what I saw was Lexa Woods naked in your bed...”

“She was not naked.”

“Half naked, whatever.” It’s Raven’s voice, this time, still loud and clear. The phone must be on speaker.

“I swear to god, if anyone else is there listening, I’m never calling either of you again. You need to _tell_ people when they’re on speaker.”

She hears someone clear their throat. “I ah, I’ll just head out okay, Clarke.” It’s Monroe. “Sorry,” They add in an obviously fading voice.

Clarke sighs. “Monroe is the only decent one among you.” She knows there are more people there. “Get out Bellamy.” There’s a long pause and then the sound of someone being hit, Bellamy grunting in pain and then Octavia telling her brother to get the fuck out.

Clarke waits. “Is that it?”

“That’s it,” Octaven say in unison.

They must share some silent exchange because Raven takes up the conversation. “So you’re not fucking Lexa Woods, just sleeping with her?”

Clarke winces, because she can’t really refute that. “Not sleeping with. Just slept slept in the same bed with this one time, due to extenuating circumstances.”

Octavia laughs. “Yeah right. Were those circumstances, her trying to get into your pants?”

Clarke frowns. “Who says, I wasn’t the one trying?”

“Cause you’re smarter than that?”

Octavia’s breath stops after that statement. It’s too familiar. Too close to what many people told Clarke after she left Finn. Well meaning but ultimately harmful comments suggesting Clarke should have left sooner, that she should have seen Finn for what he was. All statements skirting around one black-hearted notion– it was Clarke’s fault.

Octavia takes an audible breath. “I’m sorry, Clarke. That came out totally wrong. If you think Lexa Woods is worth your time, then… we support you.”

Clarke groans as she falls back against her pillows. She tries not to think too hard about the intense conversation she shared with Lexa only a few hours ago. “Can you stop using her full name every time? It’s weird.”

“Cause you want to bone her?” Raven can’t be stopped.

“I don’t want…” Clarke sighs because finishing that sentence would make her a liar. “We haven’t even gone on a date yet.”

“Oh. My. God.” Octaven are at it again though Octavia takes over this time. “Yet? So when?”

Clarke indulges her, shares a few unimportant details while she skirts around the real whys and hows of Lexa ending up in her bed a mere three days after their meeting. Finally, she hangs up with a smile on her face feeling loved by two friends that she knows will be there for her no matter what.

//

Lexa shows up at 6 as promised, on her motorcycle. There’s still light in the sky and Clarke feels that it might be a little early, but she would be lying if she said she wasn’t excited. She’d be lying if she said Lexa in her jeans, white t and Leather jacket didn’t look a little excited and breathless too.

Lexa hands her the helmet, Clarke pulls it down over her hair and Lexa’s fingers are gentle under her chin as she tightens the strap. Swinging her leg over the bike seat, Clarke's glad she opted for grey jeans and a soft blouse. Although if she's honest, looking at this bike (looking at Lexa on this bike), she probably would have gotten on even if she was wearing the shortest skirt in the world.

“Hold onto me,” Lexa says as she straightens up and revs the engine. Clarke does as she’s told, wraps her arms tight around Lexa’s waist and they're away.

They cut across the Tondisi bridge and Clarke squeezes Lexa’s middle to get her attention, to slow down just enough for the roar of the engine to dim.

“We should come back here after dark,” Clarke shouts over the wind.

Lexa nods. “Yes Ma’am,” She says and Clarke can hear the grin in her voice even if she can’t see it.

 

When they finally stop and Lexa pulls her keys from the ignition, Clarke just stares. They’re at a row of food trucks. Lexa Woods, billionaire business woman and inventor of the greatest advancement in telecommunications since wifi has brought her to a row of foodtrucks in Tondisi.

At clarke’s obviously curious look, Lexa shrugs. Her smile is shy as she says, “I grew up here. At least, I did my teenage growing up.”

“How old are you now?” Clarke asks suddenly curious.

“A lady never tells?”

“Fuck off.”

Lexa’s sigh is detailed by her happy smile. “Twenty-nine, if you must know.”

“Oh sure, and how long have you been twenty-nine, Fran?”

“Nice reference. And, only a couple years.”

Clarke laughs and Lexa feels the grin spread her own cheeks. “And what are we eating?”

Lexa just smirks in reply and nods her head, “This way,”.

Clarke follows her to the van with dancing tacos, empanadas and quesadillas on the side. Lexa orders for the both of them in spanish and Clarke feel that bubble of annoyance in her gut. She worries that Lexa is that person, the controlling one that insists on ordering for her, regardless of what she wants. She’s ready to be angry, to go home before Lexa turns back with two mssive trays of food. She’s ordered one of everything.

Lexa looks down at the food at Clarke’s confusion. “So you can try anything you want to try.”

The woman behind the counter leans past the edge of the truck to look at them both. “Ah, Lexa” she says looking at Clarke. "This one’s a pretty girl. Someone should ask her out before they miss out on the chance." The woman then winks so forcefully at Lexa that Clarke has to hold back a laugh and Lexa’s cheeks go bright pink.

Lexa gives the woman a polite, “Gracias, Silvia,” as she leaves all her change in the tip jar.

As they grab a small table with folding chairs, Clarke has to ask. “So Silvia seems to know you?”

“This is where I worked when I was younger. Everyone here is family.” Lexa says all the words in a rush, but Clarke can still see that there is a great deal of emotion behind them.

“That’s really… nice,” she settles on finally. She knows she’s barely scratching the surface of Lexa Woods. Who knows what she’ll find if she tries to dig a little deeper.

Their feast takes a long time to get through. They share stories as easily as bites of food. They talk about school and work. Clarke even tells Lexa about losing her father.

“I was lucky to have him as long as I did,” she says.

Lexa shares a few details about her own childhood. She had to leave home when she was thirteen. “Anya had already left,” she explains. “She brought me to the youth center.”

“Her center?”

“It wasn’t hers then. Not yet.”

Later, Lexa insists that Clarke must try the gelato. She’s gentle, and Clarke agrees. This time she’s witness to Lexa ordering in Italian instead of Spanish.

“Is there anything you’re bad at?” Clarke is honestly curious.

Lexa looks down at the compliment, but doesn’t have an answer.

Over their ice cream Lexa tells Clarke how she came to be _the_ Lexa Woods. Clarke has already heard the public details. Her inventions, the wise investments. What she didn’t know is that Lexa did all of it on her own.

“Not all on my own,” Lexa insists. “Anya was there. If it wasn’t for the center making sure I had a place to sleep, clothes to go to school in until I was old enough to work for myself, to qualify for scholarship, I never would have been anything. I’d probably be dead, or in jail.”

Clarke doesn’t argue. She can see how much the center means to Lexa, saw the proof of that in Lexa’s blood all over her floor. “And the commander?” She can’t help asking.

Lexa’s eyes darken as she glances around them. “The Commander is a criminal,” she says.

Clarke understands that _she_ is not a topic for conversation tonight, and tries to not let that bother her.

 

Eventually, the sun is down and the city lights are a glow to the south. Lexa remembers that Clarke wanted to go back to the bridge.

“I think it will be pretty,” Clarke says as she climbs back onto the bike behind Lexa.

It’s a warm night and Lexa has tucked her jacket away. In just a white t-shirt and black jeans she still cuts an impressive figure. When Clarke wraps her arms around Lexa’s waist again, she can feel the abs which her loose t-shirt had hidden and she feels a shiver of longing run up her spine. It’s unsettling how much Lexa affects her. She wants to play it cool, but the more she’s getting to know Lexa, the more she just wants to give into this attraction.

As the bike slows nearer the city, Clarke follows the urge she’s been fighting and lets one hand fall from Lexa’s waist to her thigh. It’s hard to tell with their helmets in the way, but she thinks Lexa half turns her way and slows the bike further. Clarke grins at the tacit permission and lets her other hand fall, both resting on top of Lexa’s thighs, gripping just tight enough to keep herself tethered.

When they reach the bridge and Lexa pulls the bike to one side, they both pull their helmets away. Clarke’s heart is beating fast as she slips off her seat and takes the steps to stand in front of Lexa. Despite the moderate speeds they were traveling at, they’re both breathing heavily. For long drawn out seconds they just stare at one another, neither willing to make the first move, both knowing what they want.

Finally, Lexa takes a deep steadying breath and looks away. “The bridge,” she says and starts packing away her helmet in the space under her seat.

Walking out to the middle of the bridge, they find that the view is just as beautiful as Clarke imagined. They stare at the city in all her glory, the river below them and the stars above. Clarke stares at Lexa too, though she tries to be subtle about it. Lexa isn’t really subtle at all.

“Amazing,” Lexa sighs, leaning back against the railing and staring up at the stars, a shimmering blanket above them.

Clarke turns to see a wistful expression on Lexa’s face. All the stress and pain of last night gone, at least in this moment.

“So what now?”

Lexa shrugs, looking at her again. “We could go to my place. Put on Netflix and see what comes up?”

Clarke can’t help it. She glances down toward Lexa’s hips with raised eyebrows and a smirk.

Lexa blushes a fiery red in a heartbeat as she realised what she said. “That’s not – I didn’t. God, just punch me in the face.” Lexa tilts her head back to look at the stars again with a calming breath.

Clarke laughs softly. “It’s okay, I believe you.” She turns around so she’s facing Lexa, then pushes forward until she can feel the heat of Lexa’s body. She hesitates with a question in her eyes until Lexa looks down again. The question Lexa answers with both hands on Clarke’s waist, gently pulling her forward. Clarke lets her hips fall into Lexa’s. She can feel where Lexa’s jeans don’t fall as flat as she’s been used to with other women and Lexa waits patiently for her to decide what to do next.

She thinks there might be a little fear hidden behind Lexa’s smile. She now recognises that smirk as the defence it is. A mask that Lexa wears to protect herself. Clarke wants to get past that mask, to understand the woman underneath.

“Do you trust me?”

Lexa swallows before answering. “Yes.”

“I know how hard that is for you.”

“I don’t have a lot of proof that I can trust anyone.”

Clarke tries not to feel hurt by the fact that she’s included in that statement.

“Letting people in, getting too close.” Lexa swallows again. “It opens us up to more pain in the end. It makes me weak.”

Clarke still doesn’t know enough about Lexa to argue. Thinking of Finn, she’s not sure if she wants to. She just knows that she’s had enough of dwelling in mistrust and hate.

“I think I’d like to be weak for a little while.” Clarke wraps her arms around Lexa’s neck. “I’d also really like to kiss you.”

Lexa’s breath catches on Clarke’s words, but then the smile that follows is real and beautiful, and Clarke leans in. Lexa makes up the distance and they’re kissing, long and soft. Languid and so perfectly beautiful in this peaceful place; half way across the river she feels as if they’re half way between worlds, in a place all their own. After a few long precious moments, Lexa pulls back just a bit, to check that Clarke is still with her. With a smile Clarke pulls her back in, their bodies tighter together than before.

Lexa’s hands start to wander over Clarke’s back sending a shiver up her spine, pushing heat through her body. She wants Lexa closer and she pushes her hands up under Lexa’s loose white T to make that happen. Her finger dance up her back over her shoulder blades and down her ribs. Clarke is aware enough not to go near the wound in Lexa’s side, but Lexa still pulls those wandering fingers away.

With a laugh, she breaks from the kiss too. “Tickles,” she murmurs against Clarke’s lips. “And this is a little public.”

Clarke hums, sneaking in one more kiss and letting her hands fall to Lexa’s safer, cooler hips. “Worried about paparazzi?” She’s joking, but no sooner are the words out of her mouth than there’s a flash. A photographer is on the other side of the bridge, whether by chance or because he was following them, he obviously recognises one or both of them.

“Let’s get out of here.” Lexa grabs Clarke’s hand in a loose, warm hold and pulls them back toward the bike.

“Aren’t you going to say something to him?”

Lexa scoffs. “Idiot gave himself away too soon. Wasn’t close enough to get a shot in such low light.” She says all this so easily that Clarke is forcibly reminded of just how often this must happen to her.

Back on the bike, Lexa turns. “So, Netflix?”

Clarke matches her smirk this time. “And chill.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on Tumblr if you feel like it. [Dancetyd](http://dancetyd.tumblr.com/)


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